


pancakes at midnight (still can't sleep)

by sleepymarvel



Series: MST3k One-Shots [6]
Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Gen, basically mst3k for the sake of mst3k because I love it, first time writing a mike story, pancakes and snarky bots, so kind of like a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymarvel/pseuds/sleepymarvel
Summary: Mike pours himself a glass of whiskey, closes his eyes as it burns his throat, thinks about how he's sitting on the other guy’s bed surrounded by the other guy’s photos and all of his personal things.





	pancakes at midnight (still can't sleep)

Something about the Satellite of Love, resting quiet in the dark of space, felt to Mike Nelson like he was living an episode of _The Twilight Zone_.

It’s not like he has insomnia. Sleep always came easily, especially with his fan on high and after a couple shots of whiskey, and he’d usually crash on his sofa back home and fall asleep within minutes. 

Still, it’s like something has shifted between then and now, and he can’t fall asleep.

Maybe it’s because the fan in his cabin is different than how it was back on earth. It’s big and square and built into the wall all choppy like; Mike never had a talent for building things and that hasn’t changed now that he's a full time space puppet.

Despite that, and despite his being begrudgingly happy with it, the bots tended to believe the giant wall fan was haunted and decided to keep away from his cabin all together until further notice. 

Mike didn’t mind that too much. He liked having time to himself and it stopped Tom and Crow from pulling pranks on him in his sleep. If he could ever get any sleep that is, that last movie was particularly bad and kept swimming in his head when he'd turn off the lights and close his eyes.

_Maybe the Mads finally won_, Mike thinks idly, _maybe I’m actually going crazy up here._

Mike pours himself a glass of whiskey, closes his eyes as it burns his throat, thinks about how he's sitting on the other guy’s bed surrounded by the other guy’s photos and all of his personal things. 

There’s neon stars still glued to the ceiling, photos of Joel Robinson and the bots on the walls all around the room, drawings on a small art easel, unfinished invention exchanges scattered by Joel’s desk. 

It’s like the guy made this place home, or as homey as the satellite could be, and gave up on ever seriously looking for a way back to earth. It’s like he accepted it, even enjoyed it.

Mike looks at the volleyball on the floor by the bed, which he affectionately named Wilson after the ball in Castaway, and decides that he didn’t much care for the invention exchanges. Maybe he’d show the volleyball to the Mads next Sunday, tell them it’s a new kids toy and call it a day.

Joel Robinson would never do that.

Here Mike is wearing the guy’s pajamas, living in his room, starting life over in a goofy sci-if adventure sort of way and maybe that’s why life feels so damn weird to him right now. 

Suddenly, the whiskey warm in his stomach, he’s craving breakfast food. He can practically vividly see stacks of pancakes, strawberries, and orange juice floating in front of him. Maybe having breakfast at almost one in the morning will make him feel better. It always did back on earth.

He’s in the little satellite kitchen a couple minutes later, pulling out the ingredients he needs for the pancakes, when he notices Tom and Crow sitting around the kitchen table with a bowl of ram chips. 

“Hey guys, what’s up?” 

The bots look at each other like they’ve been caught in a lie and then immediately back to Mike, who’s now pouring pancake mix into a frying pan. 

“We’re allowed to stay up as late as we want and eat as much ram chips as we want.” Crow immediately defends, like a kid who’s trying to trick the new substitute teacher. “In fact Joel actually encourages it.”

Mike shrugs, “Cool.”

“It’s true Mike.” Servo adds, exasperated and unaware that Mike is totally okay with it, “Joel also said I'm in charge when he’s not here.”

Mike shrugs, “It’s fine. Do whatever you want. I just want pancakes.” 

“So you’re not going to lecture us for being up past midnight and then give us a lesson about responsibility and the true meaning of being human?” Crow asks suspiciously, unconvinced.

“Uh, no. Am I supposed to? Sorry I’m still kind of new to this.”

Giving his new friends life lessons wasn’t in his job description, not that there was a job description for being spontaneously shot into space, and anyway, Mike knew that the bots hated it when he tried to tell them what to do. 

“Really,” Tom says, trying to take advantage of the situation, “Listen Mike, you’re doing great. Just remember that Joel said I’m in charge and you’ll be fine."

“Alright. Sounds good.” 

“Can we have pancakes too?” Crow asks expectantly, a few moments later, deciding to continue embellishing the truth while they're ahead, “Joel always made us pancakes. Blueberry pancakes.”

“Sure.” Mike pauses, and it’s quiet for a moment, but he’s almost sure he can hear the bots whispering to each other behind him.

He stares at the counter of breakfast food, “Did Joel ever have trouble sleeping?”

Crow replies immediately, excited, “Joel never slept. Severe insomnia. We’d have to KO punch him like in a bad Kung-Fu movie to get him into bed.”

"Yeah right, I’m not stupid. You guys better not try punching me.” Mike says quickly, of course the bots would try to trick him when they got the opportunity. 

“Oh, right. Sorry Mike. Continue with the pancakes and we won’t try to trick you anymore.” 

“Good.” 

Later that night, finally settling into bed, Mike realized that maybe being tired all the time and not being able to sleep wasn't a Satellite of Love thing.

Maybe it was a Joel Robinson thing.


End file.
